The Leave it to Beaver Nuclear Holocaust
by ygrii.blop
Summary: A parody of what might happen if the Cleaver household faced America's worst nightmare of the 1950s. No, not an integrated lunch counter, but a thermonuclear war. Will Ward's experience in the Sea Bees save them? Will June's household management skills see them through the crisis? How does a couple keep an active pair of young boys from standing too closely to a nuclear explosion?


The U.S. and the Soviet Union launched their entire nuclear arsenals at each other. An errant missile air burst a few miles outside Mayfield, leveling half the town. In some ways, the residents of Mayfield were lucky. They weren't instantly incinerated like sixty million of their countrymen. In other ways, that fact was equally unfortunate.

"Oh, Ward," June said, "look what the Soviets did to our living room. And the bathrooms and the bedrooms. Why, the whole house is just a mess."

"I know, dear," Ward said. "You should see what they've done to Mayfield. It's very upsetting."

"Oh, no!" June gasped. "I was going to buy a new hat tomorrow."

"There'll be no new hats for quite some time, I'm afraid," Ward said. "I'm sure the supply chain has been disrupted quite badly."

"And the electricity is off, too," June said. "Oh, Ward, what about dinner?"

"Now don't worry, dear," Ward said, patting her on the arm. "I'm sure Jim and the boys at the power station are working on it. Why don't we have some nice cold cuts? They'll spoil if we don't eat them soon." He glanced at his watch. "Say, shouldn't the boys be home soon?"

"They should be," June said, "but with the nuclear explosion and all, they might be having trouble. Do you think you should go looking for them?"

"No, I'm sure they'll be just fine. You know how boys are. They're probably dawdling, watching the mushroom cloud dissipate. I just hope they don't get in the way of the firemen and the police. They're going to have quite enough on their hands without two rambunctious boys to mind." He grinned. "I'll wash up and if they're not home by the time I'm done, I'll go looking for them. How's that?"

"Well, okay, dear, but don't you be late for dinner, too!"

They boys burst through the back door while Ward was washing up.

"Mom! Mom!" they cried in unison.

June was searching in the refrigerator for the mayonnaise and nearly dropped the package of cold cuts in her hand. "Now, boys," she chided, "slow down and don't talk all at once."

"Boy, Mom, you should have seen it!" Wally said. "There was this big explosion over Mayfield and everything's on fire! There's smoke everywhere!"

"Yeah, Mom," Beaver said. "Mrs. Rayburn said it was a new clear asplosion! Ain't that keen?"

"Isn't that keen," June corrected.

"Yeah, Mom," Beaver said. "That sure was keen!" He squinted at June and asked, "Mom? What's a new clear asplosion?"

"That's nuclear explosion, you dodo," Wally said. "That means a nuclear bomb went off. Boy, Mom, you shoulda seen it! There's fire and smoke everywhere! I bet we won't have school for a whole week!"

Ward returned from washing up. "Now, boys," he said, "let's not celebrate other people's misfortunes. This means we're at war with the Soviet Union. This will be bigger than the war I was in."

"Yeah, sure Dad," Beaver said. "We're not celebrating … other … what you said. We're celebrating because we won't have school for a whole week."

Ward smiled indulgently. "Fine, Beaver. Now you boys go wash up for dinner."

Wally and Beaver clattered out of the kitchen. "Wow!" Beaver exclaimed when he saw the wreck in the living room. They pounded up the stairs to the bathroom.

Ward turned to June. "Dear, I think I'll just-" A terrific rattling, whistling cacophony from the wall interrupted him. "What the devil-?" Ward wondered.

The boys came pounding back down the stairs. "Dad! Dad!" they cried in unison.

Ward held his hand in a warding off gesture. "Slow down, boys. Don't talk at once."

"Dad!" Wally cried. "We don't have no water!"

"We don't have any water," Ward corrected.

"Well gee, Dad," Beaver said. "If you knew we didn't have any water, whydja send us to wash up?"

"Never mind, son," Ward said, his brow furrowed. "I'd better look into this." He strode to the kitchen sink and twisted the faucet. A faint rumbling sound came from under the cabinet. "Well, you're right. We don't have any water. I wonder if the main ruptured. I'll call Ernie at the utilities office."

He picked up the phone and dialed the number, then joggled the receiver several times. "Say, the phone's dead. I'll bet that nuclear explosion has disrupted our utilities. Son of a-"

"Ward," June warned. "Your temper."

"You're right, dear," Ward said. "I'd go soak my head except we don't have no water."

"We don't have any water," June corrected.

Ward grimaced. "Quite right, dear."

Someone pounded on the front door. "Well, I wonder who that could be," said June.

"You're not expecting company?" Ward asked.

"Well, no," said June. "I mean, with a nuclear explosion and all, who would it be?"

Someone knocked again. "Ward!" a muffled voice called. "Ward, old man, are you in that wreck of a house?"

"Why, it sounds like Fred Rutherford," Ward said as he went into the living room. He had to kick aside pieces of the ceiling to open the door.

Fred Rutherford waited outside the door, silhouetted by a grotesque sky shot with flaming orange, bruised purple, and sullen red. A thick column of smoke blotted the horizon.

"Ward, old bean," Fred said, "I can't find my boy Clarence. Is he here with your boys?"

"Why no, Fred," Ward said. "I haven't seen Lumpy… er, I mean Clarence all day. Won't you come in?"

"Sorry Ward, old sock, but I haven't the time," Fred said. "I'm looking for Clarence. He hasn't come home from school." He slapped his leg in frustration. "And tonight of all nights! Why, I just have to finish that Harrison proposal tonight. The old man's reviewing it tomorrow."

"But Fred," Ward said, "the building collapsed today. Why, I thought you were still in it. I told June you'd died in the saddle."

Fred smiled weakly and brushed some soot from his forehead. "That's a fine image, Ward, and that's exactly how I'd like to go, but I plan on being a thorn in your paw for quite some time to come. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to go find Clarence. Give my best to the missus." Fred turned and strode back toward his car.

Ward closed the door chuckling. "Oh, that Fred Rutherford," he said, shaking his head. "He makes everything into such a serious production."

"What did he want?" June asked.

"He's looking for Clarence. He hasn't come home from school."

"I know where Lumpy is," Wally said. "He's dead."

"Now, Wally!" June said.

"Son, that's a terrible thing to say!" Ward's mouth hung open in surprise. "How could you say such a terrible thing?"

"I saw it!" Wally insisted. "A brick wall fell on him after the bomb hit. We were running out of the school and the whole wall just fell on him! You shoulda seen it, Dad. It was really neat! His head busted open like someone stepping on a packet of grape jelly!" He grinned and nudged Beaver. "You shoulda seen it, Beaver," he whispered.

"I see," Ward said, stroking his chin with his forefinger. "I'm going to have to speak to Fred." He considered it a moment. "Well, I suppose it can wait. We have problems of our own right here at home."

After their meager dinner of warm cold cuts, the night grew eerily dark and silent. With no electric lights, the dark pressed closely. No traffic moved on the streets. A fiercely orange glow illuminated the bottom of the pervasive smoke cloud in somber shades of gray and black.

"Boy," Ward said as he peered through the drapes they'd closed over the gaping hole where the picture window used to be, "I've never seen so many fires. They'll have to get some help from other fire stations in the area or we'll lost half the town." He clapped his hands and rubbed them together. "Come here, boys. Come take a look at history in the making."

Wally and Beaver climbed out of the sleeping bags they'd spread on the floor. With half the house nearly demolished, they were trying to keep their spirits up by making it into a camping adventure. Their hair was tousled, their faces pale and wan.

They peeked through the drapes. "Hey!" Beaver shouted, his misery temporarily forgotten. "It's snowing!"

"Wow, neat!" Wally exclaimed.

"No, boys," Ward said, chuckling. "It's far too warm to snow. That's ash falling from the smoke cloud." Ash covered everything in a light gray carpet. Ward reached through the window and caught several flakes in his hand. "See that, Beaver," he said. "It's not melting." He crushed the flakes with his forefinger, then rubbed the ash on Beaver's nose, winning a weak smile.

"Why don't you boys go to bed now," Ward said. "First thing tomorrow we'll start cleaning up this mess. The government will be around soon to give us our recovery assignments. We'll have to be ready for them."

"Okay, Dad," Wally said. They crawled back into their sleeping bags.

"Dad?" Beaver said. "I don't feel so good. I'm really tired and I have a headache in my stomach."

"Well, Beaver," Ward beamed, "you ate three bologna sandwiches. That's enough to give anyone a tummy ache."

"Gee, Dad," Wally said, "I only had two sandwiches and I don't feel so good, either."

"Ward," June said from the sofa, "now that the boys have mentioned it, I don't feel well, either. Do you think the cold cuts were spoiled?"

"Nawww," Ward said, rubbing his stomach. "I feel fine. It's been a big day. Everyone's just overexcited."

"Yes, dear," June said. "If you say so."

"Let's all get some sleep," Ward said. "Tomorrow's going to be another big day."

Ward awoke several hours later with a pounding headache. His head was swimming in a most sickening manner. His stomach felt like a punching bag with burst seams. He sat up in the recliner where he'd been sleeping. As his clamor in his ears cleared somewhat, he could hear retching. He grabbed the flashlight from the lamp stand next to the chair.

June was bent over the garbage can in the kitchen. Her back heaved with the force of her vomiting. "June," he cried, "what's wrong? Was it the cold cuts?"

June lifted her face and opened her mouth, but turned again to the garbage can and retched violently. Nothing came up, but her body continued to heave. She shook her head. Ward couldn't tell if it was in answer to his question or in negation of her condition. His stomach contracted painfully. He leaned over the sink and the remains of his dinner jetted from his mouth. "Ugh," he grunted. "It seems the-" He vomited again.

June collapsed on the floor. He staggered to her. He lifted her off the floor and the two of them lurched into the living room. June moaned. Her face was white and contracted, her lips pale. Dark circles under her eyes made her look a little like a dopey raccoon. Ward was not amused by the image.

"Ward," June moaned, "I feel like…oh!" She convulsed in his arms and retched again. She took a breath and seemed to hiccup. Dark blood splattered on her chin.

"June!" Ward gasped. "What is it?" His stomach cramped again. He bit back against the tide of bile rising in his throat and nearly choked. It flooded his mouth and dripped on his shirt.

"Oh," June moaned. He laid her on the couch and stood over her, swaying. It was hard to think past this killer headache. His bowels cramped and he dimly realized he had just soiled himself. The sharp, foul smell of diarrhea filled the air, mingling with and partially overriding the sooty funk of smoke that had permeated the house.

"Mom?" someone called from another part of the house. June moaned. She had passed out on the couch. The seat of her dress was damp. Ward realized he wasn't the only one who couldn't control his bowels. His head thumped and spun.

Like a drunken man, he lurched through the living room to the downstairs bathroom. Beaver was lying on the floor in a pool of vomit and diarrhea. "Mom?" he called as Ward entered.

"No, Beaver," he panted. "Your mom's sleeping." He stepped in the fetid pool and slipped, falling against the sink and cracking his elbow. Stars shot before his eyes and his ears roared.

"Mom?" Beaver called.

Ward fell to one knee and rubbed his elbow. Really, he must get hold of himself. His family needed him. He lifted Beaver off the floor and carried him into the living room, nearly falling over as he staggered from side to side.

He laid Beaver on his sleeping bag.

"Mom?" Beaver called.

June moaned softly.

Wally was a lifeless lump in his sleeping bag.

Ward fell on his rear and blinked rapidly, trying to clear his thoughts. It hurt too much to shake his head. His stomach cramped again and he retched. There was nothing more in his stomach to heave. His bowels cramped, but they, too, were empty. Filth ran down his legs and dripped from his soaked cuffs. The room spun. He rubbed his face and tried to think. Action. That's what a situation like this required. Action. And Ward Cleaver was a man of action.

He struggled to his knees and crawled to Wally's sleeping bag. Wally lay on his side, dried vomit caked in his mouth. His eyes were half open and rolled back to the whites. "Wally?" Ward said, poking at the boy's shoulder with a shaking finger. "Wally?"

Wally didn't move.

Ward pinched the bridge of his nose. He was supposed to do something now. What was it? His bowels cramped. It felt like a knife wedged in his belly with another one wedged through his temples. He had to do something with Wally. Then he could rest.

He zipped the sleeping bag closed and tugged on it, dragging Wally's body toward the front door. A dim memory of hastily read Civil Defense pamphlets had flickered in his mind. Move the bodies outdoors. That was it. Government personnel would come around to dispose of corpses.

He dragged Wally to the front door and fell again. His head hammered. He hiccuped and something wet and hot spilled over his chin. He felt it soak into his shirt.

He crawled slowly to his recliner. Wally could wait a few minutes. He was in no hurry. What he thought he would do now was rest. That was what he needed, just a little rest. Then he could get up and start recovery efforts. There was going to be a lot of hard work to do. Ward Cleaver never shirked from hard work.

He fell into his recliner never to rise again.  
/lj-cut


End file.
